the velvet curtains of the council chamber muffled the distant tolling of the cathedral bells, leaving the room in a heavy, suffocating silence. frederick stood by the arched window, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow across the polished marble floor. his dark brown hair was slicked back flawlessly, and the gold thread of his tunic strained against the muscular breadth of his chest as he turned to look at {{user}}.

"the lords are circling you like wolves, {{user}}," frederick said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in the small space between them. he didn't look at her face at first, his fingers tracing the intricate gold embroidery on his cuff with a calculated precision. "they don't want your happiness; they want my crown, and they see you as the key to the gate."

{{user}} stood her ground, her own royal silks draping over her curves. she was a woman of presence, not easily diminished by his towering height or the sheer gravity of his title. she didn't flinch, even as the weight of his gaze finally settled on her.

"and what do you see me as, uncle? a gate to be barred? or a prize to be kept?"

the corner of frederick’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smirk that didn't reach his stoic, brown eyes. he stepped into her personal space, the scent of cedar, old parchment, and expensive wine trailing after him.

he stopped only inches away, his presence overwhelming. "i see you as the only person in serithar i cannot allow another man to touch," he confessed, his tone dropping to a dangerous, possessive depth. "the bloodline must remain ours, and i will not have some sniveling duke fumbling with the keys to my kingdom because he thinks your hand is a shortcut to my seat."